


That Same Old Joke

by Caswingsuniverse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Priest Kink, Priest!Dean, Sexual Content, angel!cas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caswingsuniverse/pseuds/Caswingsuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this tumblr post: http://theirin.tumblr.com/post/26759330059/destiel-au-a-priest-and-an-angel-walk<br/>Castiel decides to go to Earth one night and meets Dean, a priest, at the Roadhouse. </p><p>This is my first time writing a fic with mature content, so please comment! <3 Also follow me on tumblr: caswingsuniverse.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Same Old Joke

Flying through Heaven feels like swimming on a sunny day. The surface of the water is warm, sprinkled with rays of light and the depths are cool, swirling shadows holding everything up. Castiel recalls the sensation from his last trip to Earth. The Nile stained his vessel’s skin with mud, his hair matted to his head. The warm coolness of that water reminded him of his Father’s power, the beauty of His creation. 

He stays suspended in space, grace humming. Not unlike human humming, but at a frequency and pattern painful to the mortal ear. He hasn’t been down there in so long, Heaven in need of his strategic skills. Now, he contemplates his own restlessness. He stretches his wings, allowing himself to compress into a man’s shape. 

When an angel takes on the appearance of a human, it mimics the angel’s own desires to create a vessel. He liked his Egyptian vessel, the long limbs, the dark curly hair, the dark skin that tanned into the color of the Pyramids’ shadows. However, instead of the burnt sienna of shadows, Castiel feels like diffused starlight. His skin flashes, pale compared to the dark hair that appears on his arms. He has black hair as unruly as the wind, eyes as vivid as crystal clear ponds, a thin body as sturdy as an oak tree. An embodiment of Castiel’s favorite things. He scratches his cheek to relearn the feeling of skin on skin and laughs when he finds stubble. Castiel always thought five o’clock shadow made men’s faces appear fuller, stronger somehow. He tests his voice, the sound lower than he expected. He appears in a back alley thousands of miles away in Kansas, smiling with his new face. He adjusts his trench coat on his shoulders, then walks out onto the main road. 

It’s a small town with rustic looking buildings. Cars motor past, people waving at each other from behind their windshields. Castiel smiles as he passes by them, holding up his right hand whenever they gesture at him. Its late afternoon on a Friday, everyone on their way home from eating out or going out to celebrate the end of the week. Castiel always marveled at how humans spend their days of Sabbath, taking opportunities to try out these activities for himself. 

That’s how he finds himself at a bar called The Roadhouse. He tilts his head as he examines the sign just above the door. A couple of larger men saunter to the entrance, nodding respectively as they walk past. When they open the door, a swarm of sensations crash over him. One stands out the most: the smell and sound of fresh ground beef sizzling on the grill. 

His vessel’s mouth starts to water and he smiles. Knowing human social standards, he made sure to include a replica of a wallet in the left pocket of his coat. He touches the warm leather with his soft fingers, glad he remembered to carry at least 20 dollars in cash. 

When he opens the door, a young and confident woman grins at him. She holds a tray covered in plates of food and beer bottles up, a stack of menus under her arm. Her name tag reads “Jo”. 

“Welcome to the Roadhouse!” she says, stopping briefly behind the hostess booth to pick up some more menus. “Take a seat wherever you can find one. Your waiter will be ‘round with a menu.”

Castiel grins back and nods, watching her walk away and carry the tray with ease. Scanning the room, he finds an open seat at the bar. He crosses the room, vessel buzzing from the noise and energy around him. The Roadhouse isn’t brightly lit, over hanging lights casting a warm glow over the dark wooden tables. The walls didn’t seem brown or red, but an odd combination of both, absorbing and reflecting the light. Pictures and posters cover the walls with personal stories and other histories Castiel finds himself extremely curious about. He straddles the bar stool, resting his elbows against the worn bar and sighing happily. 

A lanky man with a mullet approaches him from behind the bar. His smile is goofy and light, eyes shining when he plops his note pad and a menu onto the bar. He gives Castiel a quick once over, appraising his apparel. “Nice coat, dude.”

Castiel blinks, looking down at his trench coat and laughing. “Thank you.”

Ash runs a hand over his already slick hair, laughing as well. “My name’s Ash. I’ll be your server for today. What can I get ya?”

The angel looks over the man’s head at the kitchen, mouth watering again. “I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger, well done, with fries and whatever you have on tap to drink.”

Ash nods, putting his blank note pad in his back pocket. “You got it,” he says to the angel before turning to the open window and calling, “I need a hockey puck for Noah’s boy with a side of frog sticks.”

Castiel’s eyes widen at the lingo, his face flushing when Ash sees the expression and winks in response. The angel laughs, shaking his head as the man walks away. Humans never ceased to amuse and amaze him. Ash quickly reappears with a glass of beer and Castiel holds it up in salute before taking a couple of sips. He closes his eyes. His lips pop with a satisfying wet sound as he sighs again. His back relaxes and he slouches towards the counter top. No one from his garrison is here, looking at him with respect and awe in their eyes. No one is expecting him to be a soldier.

When Ash places a large plate with the best burger he’s ever seen on it, he sends out a silent prayer to his Father. A brief and very sincere thank you for grilled meat. He finishes it quickly, each bite causing him to pause with new thoughts of appreciation. He shares this with Ash when the waiter comes back to fill his cup. Ash smiles before sharing it with the chef, Ellen, who comes out and thanks him for the comments. 

Minutes pass after the friendly interaction, and Castiel’s vessel feels drowsy. The angel startles when a voice speaks up next to him. “A little warm for a trench coat don’t ya think?”

Castiel turns to face the stranger and pauses. The most beautiful human Castiel’s ever seen sits down on the stool next to his own, a smile decorating his lips. The angel stares at the pink flesh before meeting the man’s eyes, just as shocked by their striking green color. Each time he blinks, Castiel feels like he sees something new about the man that is as beautiful as the last. 

“Excuse me?” he stammers after a second.

The man’s grin falters, his eyebrows furrowing in a way that accents the peak of his hair line. “No offense man, your coat just caught my eye.”

Honey and cigarette smoke are the only things Castiel can think of to explain the sweetness and darkness of the man’s voice. He smiles, shaking his head. “You did not offend me. Just took me by surprise. I do suppose it is warm in this establishment.”

The man raises an eyebrow when the angel begins to shimmy out of his coat. The new formation of his features accents his freckles. Castiel finds himself silently counting them as he pulls his arms from the sleeves, tilting his head as he squints and leans forward. Snorting, the man shakes his head and grins again. 

“You’re not from ‘round here, are ya?” The man looks Castiel up and down, biting his bottom lip a little. Castiel blushes slightly, staring at the bar.

Castiel shakes his head, draping his coat over his lap. “Indeed, I am not.”

Laughter rumbles from the man like a car engine, something warm but distinctly rough. “I can tell. You talk like a Harvard professor. I’m Dean Winchester.”

Before Castiel can respond, Ash stops in front of them with a grin wide as the open sky. His voice is laced with laughter when he speaks. “The usual?” 

Dean nods, watching the waiter go and rolling his eyes before turning back to Castiel. 

He offers his hand, saying, “Pleased to meet you, Dean. I’m Castiel.”

Dean blinks, holding Castiel’s hand for a second longer than what seemed normal. After the pause, the man shakes his head and let’s go. Castiel tilts his head in question.

“Odd name ya got there. Castiel’s the angel of Thursday if I remember right.” Ash appears in front of the pair, placing a bottle of beer in front of Dean. Dean winks at Ash, popping the cap off against the counter. 

Castiel’s eyes widen at both Dean’s words and actions. He nods with a questioning smile. “That’s correct, yes. Not many people know that…”

Elbow resting on the bar, Dean spins the metal between his fingers. Castiel watches the flashes, eyes caught on a streak of white. The angel gapes at the clerical collar, thoughts blank despite the buzz of his brothers’ voices in the back of his mind. 

Dean notices his line of sight, adjusting the collar and laughing. “I should know, seeing as I got ordained little over a month ago. Took me a couple years but my baby brother helped out.” 

Castiel moves his gaze from the collar to Dean’s eyes, still surprised. The man stares back, clearing his throat. Castiel shakes his head, pressing his lips into a line. “My apologies, Father.” Castiel holds up his half empty glass in salute. “Congratulations.”

Laughing, Dean holds up his bottle and takes a long drink from it. He sighs as he puts the bottle back onto the bar. “Thanks, but don’t call me that.”

Ash drops by with a burger and fries for Dean and another beer for Castiel. The angel watches Dean eat his burger, tracing the lines of the human’s neck with his eyes. His vessel’s ears feel warm as he watches Dean swallow. Looking away, he rubs the back of his neck with a sweaty palm. Dean senses his discomfort, and takes a swig of beer to clear his throat. 

“Your parents must a been religious folks to name you after an angel,” the priest offers, dipping a fry in some ketchup before popping it into his mouth. Castiel follows the movement, lips parted slightly. 

“That would be an appropriate label for my father,” the angel answers, snorting to himself. Dean nods, staring at the condensation on his bottle. 

“I get that. My old man is Bible thumper in his own way.”

Angel and priest stare at each other, a silent exchange of empathy and understanding making the air thick. Castiel leans forward, skin tingling the closer he gets to the man. “I do not wish to offend you, but you are unlike any priest I have ever met.”

Dean spins his bottle in a slow circle, glancing at the angel from the shadows over his eyes. “That a bad thing?”

Leaning back, Castiel blinks. “No, not at all. It’s quite refreshing actually. Some priests seem removed from the people they serve. Like they think their title separates them from all of humanity.”

There’s another moment of silence between the two. Dean stops spinning the bottle, staring at the angel with his lips parted. He huffs, dipping another fry in ketchup. “That’s an interesting thought, but I’m nothin’ close to refreshing. If anything, I’m a horrible fu-. I’m a not the best priest, okay?”

Castiel’s head tilts subconsciously, watching the priest’s jaw work. He gazes at Dean, eyes so soft it throws the man off. “That’s not true.” 

Green eyes waver as they watch the angel. Dean scoffs, looking at the empty space behind the bar. “Yeah, okay. It’s not like I wanted the job to begin with…”

“Do you wish to talk about it?”

Dean sits up at that, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but the angel. “Ain’t that my job? To listen to the plights of God’s children?”

The man’s voice crackles, a sound shattered by self-deprecation and bitterness. Placing a hand over the priest’s, Castiel bites his tongue to fight the urge to stroke his knuckles. Instead he stares at the man, pursing his lips before he speaks. 

“Even priests have burdens they need to put to rest.”

Castiel isn’t sure if it’s the lighting in the Roadhouse, or if it’s the soft harmony of conversations and classic rock, but everything feels suspended. The bar turns into a surreal cliff face they both balance on, separated from everything around them. The air feels warmer, but cool at the same time. Like when the sun comes out while it’s still sprinkling. Everything stays balanced like that for minutes.

Ash clears his throat, looking between the two men with a smile. Both jump back, blushing simultaneously. He takes Dean’s and Castiel’s plates, trying to hold back laughter. “Can I get you anything else, Father?” 

Dean rolls his eyes at the title, resting both his elbows on the bar and leaning his head on his hands. “For you to shut up and get me two slices of Ellen’s apple pie.”

Ash laughs, walking to the window with the order. Awkwardness simmers in the air now, causing sweat to drip down the small of Castiel’s back. The priest huffs, a small burst of laughter that Castiel wants to hear over and over. Dean stares at his hands, turning them over so that they’re palm up. He traces the wrinkles of one of his palms, frowning at the deep creases and callouses. He examines his nails, rubbing the pad of his thumbs across the circular arcs. 

“In high school, I had my shit together. I worked as a training mechanic for a family friend. I was dating the most beautiful girl in the school, was probably gonna marry her. I knew where my life was heading...”

Castiel nods, encouraging the priest silently because he feared words would scare him into not talking. 

“Lisa left after we graduated, told me that she wasn’t going to be with someone who didn’t love her. I told her that I did love her, but she pointed at me and said I knew exactly what she meant. All throughout high school she knew something was off, that I stared at my best friend the wrong way. That I flirted with guys just as much as I did with girls. She held my face in her hands, and told me to stop holding myself back. After she left, I sorta lost it. I stopped showing up to work, starting drinking too much. I woke up in someone else’s bed every morning. Sometimes it was a chick, sometimes not. I went with the flow, tried to prove that even after I had sex with a guy I’d still be straight. I used every single person I slept with. I was fucked up back then.”

The priest shakes his head, looking at Castiel again. His eyes are stained red, accenting the green and gold in his irises. Dean smiles mockingly. “This is where I’m supposed to say I found God… that he raised me from perdition. But to be honest, he didn’t.”

Dropping the pies off, Ash raises an eyebrow at the stoic expressions on their faces. Castiel shakes his head when the man looks to him, sending him away. Dean pushes the other plate towards Castiel. “Ellen has the best apple pie this far off the coast.”

Castiel picks up his own fork, squeezing the warm metal and staring off into space. “You don’t believe in God?”

Dean takes a bite of his pie, eyes closing as he sighs in contentment. The look of blissful satisfaction on the man’s face contrasts drastically with the empathy bubbling in the back of Castiel’s throat. He finds himself in a battle of emotion, caught up in how Dean looks while eating pie versus how he feels about their topic of conversation. Unsure of what to do, Castiel waits for Dean to open his eyes, nodding for him to continue. 

“I didn’t for a long time. I believed in what I had.” Dean looks at the angel, fiddling with his fork. He doesn’t hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds. The priest takes another bite of his pie to fill in the silence with buttered crust and caramelized apples. The golds on his plate contrasts with the black dress shirt and slacks, makes his face appear even brighter. Castiel takes another drink from his beer, tracing patterns in the condensation to give Dean space. 

“That didn’t go over well with my dad, who found out about some of the negatives in the equation, if ya catch my drift” Dean finally says, shaking his head while looking at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen him so livid… Just a few years outta high school, he forced me into ministry work. I didn’t fight him. Everything I planned on before fell flat, like one of those theatre backdrops that look real.”

Castiel frowns, watching light reflect off their metal forks. He isn’t sure how to offer comfort, how to apologize for the fact his Father’s name was used to make him suffer. Before he can do anything, Dean continues. 

“I was sitting in an empty church one day, wondering why I cared so much about school, about pleasing my dad. Wondering why it all mattered anyway, when I had to shoulder my dad’s bullshit. When I have to fight this.” Dean chews on the inside of his cheek, fixing his hair as he speaks. “And… I just felt warm… Like something bigger than me was there, touching my shoulder, silently telling me to don’t be a dumbass and enjoy what I have. To do what I do best, and that’s take care of others.”

Gaping at the man, Castiel can’t help but smile. He had leaned forward into the priest’s space without realizing it, inhaling his every apple-tinged word. He starts to absentmindedly count freckles again. Something inside his vessel feels empty and full, like his grace is pressed thin within his skin. He wonders if he will explode or implode, goosebumps rising on his skin. Each breeze of air conditioning, each brush of his skin against his clothes, each inch of space between him and the priest make his skin tingle. He doesn’t say anything, afraid of making the moment awkward. 

Dean doesn’t move away or point out the lack of space between them. Instead, he licks his lips and gestures to the uneaten pie on Castiel’s plate. He whispers, “You gonna eat that?”

Castiel grins at the man, watching him in his peripheral as he scoops up a piece from the plate. He sniffs the bite first, before taking the fork into his mouth. Some of the filling smears on his lips, but he leaves it, focused more on the taste in his mouth. 

Tastes are not heightened for angels. Neither are they muffled. But compared to his ever silent palate, great food compares to that of God’s voice. A small moan rumbles in his throat, a noise he’s never felt inside his own body before. As he does so, he licks his lips slowly. He rubs his teeth with the tip of his tongue, testing the sugary mix against the enamel. Lost in the sensations, the angel doesn’t notice Dean bite hard on his bottom lip. He doesn’t see how the priest clenches his fists, or how he closes his legs. He does freeze when a prayer rings in his mind like wind chimes. 

God almighty, help me for I am about to sin…

Castiel’s eyes lock with Dean’s. His heart drops. The back of his neck turns into a stove top and he clears his throat. He leans back, holding up his glass to the man. “Well, Dean Winchester, I’m glad you became a priest despite-”

Sneering, the priest puts his hand on top of the glass. He pushes it down, staring at the angel’s lips. His fingers clutch at Castiel’s, voice tight. “Don’t say that when I’m trying to not…”

The man stops, quickly dropping his hand and shoving it into his pocket. Castiel tilts his head, putting his glass down on the table and reaching for Dean’s shoulder. His grace warms when he notices how perfectly his palm fits around the curve of his shoulder blade. “I did not mean to offend you. I apologize for my forwardness.”

Dean laughs, raising an eyebrow while rubbing his free palm on his pants. He looks around the restaurant with a disbelieving smile. When he faces the angel again, the glow in his eyes appears solid as a setting sun. He reaches out to fix Castiel’s tie, tightening it and looking at the angel’s collar bone instead of his face. 

“You’re making this hard, ya know that?” 

“I do not understand what you mean,” Castiel says, biting the inside of his cheek like he saw Dean do seconds before. The pain takes him out of the moment, but then heightens every other sensation. 

The priest whispers still holding the angel’s tie, “I shouldn’t want this… It’s wrong…”

Castiel sits up, his bones shocked by lightning. He puts his fingers under Dean’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Dean, your sexual orientation hardly matters to God. You’ve been buried in your father’s insecurities and lies to not even realize the truth. The only sin here is your own murder.”

Each blink and breath doesn’t go unnoticed, a catalog of memories Castiel buries far within his grace. Dean’s lips are parted, eyes wide. The angel tilts his head, a small smile turning his lips up. He kisses the corner of the priest’s lips. The touch causes Dean’s breath to hitch. Castiel feels the man’s muscles freeze beneath his hands. Dean’s grip on the angel’s tie tightens, keeping him close. The man’s voice drops, cracks, crumbles like castles. “Don’t Cas…”

Stroking his cheek, Castiel pulls back just enough to see his eyes. No one had ever given him a nickname before, not even his brethren. He repeats it in his mind over and over, lets the sound of it fill his grace. He presses his thumb into the man’s bottom lip, smiling. “Would you like to leave this establishment with me?” 

Dean’s eyes focus on the angel’s lips as he speaks, and he nods. They move apart, their interaction lasting no longer than 30 seconds. No one around them really noticed the men’s embrace. Ash grins when Castiel waves his hand over the bar, taking out his wallet to pay for the meal. When the waiter stands in front of them, Dean snatches the angel’s wallet from his hand. He hands Ash some cash, winking at Castiel. “This one’s on me. Keep the change, Ash.”

Ash laughs, nodding at the both of them. “You got it, Father.” 

Dean hands the wallet back to Castiel, grinning at the angel’s frown. The priest stands, rolling up the long sleeves of his black button up as Castiel puts his trench coat on. Castiel stares as he does so, focused on the muted luster of Dean’s tan skin. Freckles dot Dean’s arms as well, and Castiel reaches out to draw a line between two with his fingertip. Pausing, the priest chuckles at Castiel’s actions, taking his hand and leading him from the restaurant. 

Dean’s eyes shimmer under the street lights as he guides Castiel to his car. It lounges in the far corner of the lot, black paint mirroring the horizon dusted with dusk’s colors. The angel typically avoids automobiles, finding the confines of the frame and slow pace nauseating. Now, he just lets the priest lead. Castiel dug Dean from the ashes of his own fears, clutches onto the sparks in the priest’s hands. When Dean pushes him against the car’s cool exterior, he breathes life into the fire. 

Warm hands, experienced hands, trace his jawline, scratch at his stubble. Dean’s skin smells of leather, holy water, smoke, worn pages. He searches the angel’s eyes, biting his bottom lip and silently asking for Castiel’s permission. Instead of saying anything, Castiel leans forward, brushing his lips against the priest’s to get him to stop chewing. When the priest gasps, Castiel wraps his arms around his neck and actually kisses him. The man’s tongue tests the taste of Castiel’s mouth, and a hum shudders in Castiel’s chest. Dean laughs, breaths deep to keep up with his heart.

While Dean focuses on breathing, the angel tilts his head up with a finger. Castiel starts at the clerical collar, kissing each freckle he comes across. He tugs on Dean’s earlobe with his teeth, laughing when it causes the man to jump. He sighs against the Dean’s neck, biting the skin when he sees the goosebumps rise. Dean’s hands move from the angel’s shoulders to his hips, pulling him closer while pushing him away. The priest rocks against Castiel’s thigh.

Dean pulls back, grabbing Castiel’s shoulder and moving him to the side. He fumbles in his pocket for his keys, yanking the door open once he’s turned the lock. He jerks the back door open, reaching for the angel again. He grins, but hesitates for a second as he slides into the backseat. He looks up at Castiel, eyes a flash of color in the shadows. Tugging on the angel’s tie, he leads Castiel into the backseat as well. 

For a second, they awkwardly press up against each other. Dean grunts as he closes the door, but he grins when he leans back against the opposite door. He still has the blue tie wrapped up in his fingers, and he uses it bring Castiel closer. The angel’s heart quickens, a heavy beat he hears in his ear as he straddles the priest’s hips. When Dean yanks on his tie, pulling him into a hard kiss, he moans. 

Castiel knew that humans connected on such a level, but never found the activity particularly interesting until now. He plants one hand on the seat to keep balance, the other on the window. Dean’s tongue swipes against his own, a splash of new taste just as the man rocks up against him. Their chests touch, heat exchanged through the barriers of their shirts. Castiel settles one leg on the seat, the other foot on the floor so he can move his hips against the priest’s. When he does for the first time, Dean’s head falls back against the door and he lets out a soft moan. He just says, “Cas…”

The angel sucked in a breath, pressing his crotch against Dean’s again, the zipper of his pants pressing into his skin. He hisses at the sensation, but pleasure overcomes the slight pain. He moves slower this time, watching the priest shudder as his own muscles quiver. His eyelids flicker, the spark of sensation a sharp tingle that buzzes in his head. Dean’s eyes are half closed, cheeks flushed so brightly Castel can see it in the shadows. The angel feels his grace rise up inside his vessel, reaching and twisting in his skin, aching to touch Dean. He shivers, choosing to rock against Dean instead of thinking about his grace. When he stops again, the priest growls. Dean bites his neck, hands clutching at his hips and pulling him down. Dean thrusts up over and over, moans muffled by Castiel’s skin. 

The angel allows himself to be manhandled, whimpering as the pressure in his groin increases and the pace increases. They’re both sweating, blanketed by Castiel’s trench coat. Castiel cradles Dean’s head, keeps the back of it from hitting the door with every movement of their hips. Dean rakes his nails down the back of Castiel’s shirt under the trench coat, squeezing his ass at the end of the stroke. Castiel moans, fingers clenching helplessly against the leather seat. He pulls at Dean’s hair, moving his head back to kiss him again. The priest yelps, then groans under Castiel’s lips. “Fuck, Cas.”

The angel sucks on the priest’s tongue, quieting his words, taking them from him. His grace pounds with his heart beat, leaking through his eyes, through his fingertips. His touch burns against Dean’s skin, pours his wonder and longing and ache into the man. Dean stares up at the angel, lips swollen as they continue to move together. Castiel still holds onto his hair, eyes clenched shut as he rocks faster. Dean notices the blue hint to Castiel’s skin, watches in hazy amazement as it grows brighter. Before he brings it up, he’s clutching at the angel, whispering his name over and over. “Come on, Cas…”

Castiel bites the priest’s shoulder to keep from screaming as he reaches climax. The shock wave of pleasure and something akin to pain ripples through his grace, pushes itself from him and into Dean. The priest closes his eyes instinctly, the tornado of emotion coming from the angel ripping through his body. Dean arches up, moaning the angel’s name as all the tension inside him releases. 

Castiel gasps for air, shaking on top of Dean, who is as equally as shaky. Castiel nuzzles the priest’s chest, smiling when he finds the smell of Dean’s shirt pleasing. Dean stares up at the roof of the car, heart beat settling. 

Castiel looks up, stroking Dean’s cheek with his thumb. He leans forward, brushing their noses together. They pause before kissing, Castiel’s lips centimeters from Dean’s. Green eyes search blue ones. There’s a soft, revenant whisper. “What are you?”

Castiel smiles, kissing Dean’s chin and resting his forehead against Dean’s collarbone. Instead of saying anything, the angel allows his wings to manifest as much as they can in the physical world. Their shadows stretch across the roof, and Dean reaches out to touch the invisible appendages. When his warm fingertips pet Castiel’s feathers, Dean whispers, “Dear god… you’re an angel.”

Castiel nods against Dean’s chest, moving his hands so they can rest on the priest’s shoulders. He clenches his eyes shut, prepares himself to teleport away from the man, to erase Dean’s memories of him. Castiel isn’t sure why he didn’t question his motives earlier, why he didn’t think about how his grace would react to sex. He just hopes that he can leave Dean with the feeling of satisfaction, the feeling that he doesn’t have to hide who he is from himself. 

Just as Castiel is about to leave, Dean starts to laugh. The sound rolls like waves, clear as it fills the car. Castiel shakes with the force of it, and he stares at the priest. Dean wipes his eyes with the back of his hands, shaking his head as he meets the angel’s gaze. Dean kisses Castiel’s forehead. “We’re like one of those lame jokes.”

Castiel tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting. “I do not understand.”

Dean laughs harder at that, his body curving upward against Castiel. He kisses the angel’s forehead. “Ya know, ‘an angel and a priest walk into a bar?’ That kinda joke.”

Castiel stares at the priest, blinking multiple times as Dean continues to laugh. He waits for the priest to stop laughing, to tell him that’s not possible, to go into shock. After a couple more minutes of Dean chuckling to himself, Castiel realizes that Dean’s not going to do that. The priest believes him, had seen and felt his grace for himself. 

Smiling, Castiel settles back on top of Dean’s chest. He uses his grace to clean both of their pants, then sighs. His eyes feel heavy as he wraps his arms around Dean. He tries to memorize the priest’s smell, the give of his muscles, the pattern of his breathing. Dean pets his hair, barely whispers, “Do you want to come to my place for the night?”

Castiel stops breathing. His heart drops when he looks up at Dean’s smile. Castiel sends a rushed message home, a warning that he’ll be on earth for a while longer. He doesn’t think about what his brothers’ reactions may be, just grins at the priest lying underneath him. His grace warms at the thought of sleeping for the first time next to one of God’s children.

“Yes, please.”


End file.
